That Old Black Magic
by Rabbit-Momma
Summary: Seymour: Jerry Lewis. Sam and Dean find what seems to be an old contact of their dad's. Intent on finding John Winchester, Sam and Dean travel to NYC to meet this mysterious guy only to reach a dead end. Seymour won't let them leave until Dean tries his hand at gambling the years of his life away. A deeper back story to Seymour reveals itself along the way. Set during Season One.
1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester walked into the hotel room he and his older brother, Dean, were sharing. He was carrying a paper bag of food he had bought from the convenience store across the street. He could hear Dean in the bathroom taking a shower as he walked over to the table and set the bag down then proceeded to empty the bag of its contents. He knew Dean would be hungry and would also be very glad about the pie Sam had bought. The pie would most likely be the first thing his brother spotted.

They had just finished up a job, so they were happy to have some form of rest. Dean was still pulling all nighters, trying to find out where their dad had gone. The reason they were on this road trip in the first place. Dad had gone missing, in search of whatever had killed Mom when Sam had just been a baby.

Once the bag was empty, Sam threw it away then walked back over to the table, clearing an area to eat. He set Dad's journal on top of his laptop then moved both over to one of the beds. He tripped on something on the floor, causing the journal to slide off and plop onto the floor. He put the laptop down and kicked Dean's boots out of the way then bent down and picked up the journal, noticing a card fall out. He bent over and picked that up, seeing nothing more but a name on it.

Seymour, Copa.

On the back was, Password: _Schtup._

Sam turned his head and saw Dean walk out of the bathroom, dressed. He held up the card and didn't have to say anything. Dean just said, "It ain't mine," then went over to the table when he spotted the card. "Someone has a guilty conscience," Sam said, putting the journal down and turning the card over again.

"What's the name on the card?" Dean asked, sitting down and pulling the pie over to him. He looked over at his brother.

"Seymour."

"See? Not mine," Dean said, turning his attention back to the table. "If it was, there'd be a name like Star Angel or something and her number." He opened the container the pie was being kept in.

"There's no number and only a password," Sam said. He walked over and sat down at the table across from Dean, putting the card down. "You think he might be a contact of Dad's?" He looked at Dean.

Dean took a bite of pie, saying nothing until he was through chewing and then swallowed. "How come we haven't found that card before now?" he asked.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows how many times we've dropped that journal," he said, shaking his head. "Unless there's some divine intervention-"

Dean cut him off with a shake of his head. "Where's this guy at?" he asked. "Or is there not an address either?"

Sam tapped a finger on the card. "At the Copa."

"The Copacabana?" Dean asked. He lifted another bite of pie. "Looks like we're going to New York City."

* * *

><p>They arrived in New York City around midnight the next day. Dean looked at the card in his hand as they walked down the street toward the Copa. When they arrived at the nightclub, Dean showed the card to the bouncer out front. The big man took the card then nodded for the two brothers to follow. Sam and Dean looked at each other then followed the man inside. They headed down a flight of stairs then down a hallway that hadn't been there the second before they walked into it. They stopped at a door and the man gestured them to go further. Dean opened the door and led the way inside, down another flight of stairs and into an entirely different world.<p>

It was almost like they had just stepped into the 1950s. Even their clothes had changed. The two stopped and looked around before looking at each other.

"I'm not sure comin' here was a good idea," Dean said.

"You're only saying that because you're the one that looks ridiculous," Sam said. "Movies might have been in black and white, but the world was a colorful place back then."

"Too colorful," Dean said then they both looked forward when their names were called out.

A man walked over to them. He looked to be in his thirties, dark hair, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. He pulled off the fifties look a lot better. "Looks like I owe John Winchester big time," he said. "Welcome to the Copa! My version, that is."

"Don't tell me," Dean said then pointed a finger at the man. "Seymour."

"Figure that out all on your own, Deany-boy?" Seymour, he couldn't be anyone else at this point, asked, sarcasm dripping heavily. "What can I do for you boys?"

"Actually," Sam said before Dean could say anything. "We were hoping you could do something for us. Y'see, we found your card with our dad's journal. We were hoping if you've seen him recently."

"I saw him around six months ago," Seymour replied. He took a long drag from his cigarette. "He was chasing something. Thought I could help him out. Don't know why he'd think that." He lifted the glass to his lips.

"Do you?" Dean asked. "We happen to be chasing after the same thing."

Seymour lowered his glass. "I'm just a businessman," he said. "I don't gather secrets, I don't gather information, I don't have contacts. The information you're looking for can't and will never be found here. If that's the only reason you've come…" He gestured behind them. "You know the way out."

Dean looked at Sam. "This was a dead end," he said then turned to head back the way they had come, but Sam wasn't moving. He should have expected that.

"There must be _something _you could help us with," Sam said. For being so angry at Dad all the time, he really wanted to find the man real quick. "You saw him six months ago. We didn't. Did he say where he was going?"

"How the hell would I know?" Seymour asked. "I just got through explaining to you that I'm a businessman. Nothing only thing, and I mean _only _thing John told me was to make sure you two never came here. Unfortunately, he bet that you _would _find some way to contact me. Weasley bastard." He shook his head, but it sounded like he was in awe of John Winchester. Dean smirked at that. _Good ol' Dad._

Dean walked back over to join the two. It seemed like Sam was still determined to get information out of this guy no matter what the guy said. "Look," he said, looking at Seymour and placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Thanks for the help. If you see him again, you probably know how to get a hold of us since you clearly know us a bit more than we know you." He lowered his hand. "So, thanks for the nice talk. We'll be going now." He looked at Sam. The two brothers exchanged a look and Sam finally nodded. Dean nodded in return then turned and started back the way they came, hearing Sam following after.

"Just wait a moment," Seymour said. Sam and Dean didn't have the time to stop on their own. Two big security men stepped in front of them, blocking the way out.

Reluctantly, the two Winchesters turned back to face Seymour. "You're really just gonna come here and not enjoy yourselves?" Taking a drag from his cigarette, he gestured around his place, a smirk on his face.

Sam and Dean looked at each other then back at Seymour. "We only came here for information," Dean said. "You don't have any info we want, so yeah, we'll be showin' ourselves out." He gestured behind him. "So if you could kindly ask your big buffoons to skedaddle…."

Seymour put the cigarette out. At least, it appeared that way. One second it was in his hand, then the next it was gone. Along with his drink. He walked over to stand before the two. Dean wasn't even intimidated by the look in the guy's eyes. Seymour stood a good few inches shorter than both Sam and Dean. He had to look up at them and really didn't look all that happy about it. "My big 'buffoons' aren't going anywhere," he said. "And neither are the two of you."

He turned and took a few steps away, turning back when he was about four feet from where they were standing. "Ever feel trapped?" he asked. "You'll be getting a lot of that tonight."

"You can't keep us here," Sam said. He was right. They could fight their way out of here with ease. Even if they had only brought one gun a piece. The big buffoons behind them didn't stand a chance. Seymour didn't know what he was messing with here. "Let us go, or something bad's gonna happen."

"Yeah, that's telling him, Sammy," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. He thrust his arm back, catching one of the buffoons in the face with his elbow. The big guy stumbled back, more startled than incapacitated. Sam, on the other hand, had already knocked out the other guy. Dean swung around for another hit then was taken by surprise as he was sent flying into the wall. He hit pretty hard, knocking the air out of him. He turned his head and saw that Sam was in the same predicament.

They were both suspended three feet off the floor against the wall. Seymour was shaking his head, as if reprimanding two little kids.

"You don't really think before you do, huh?" Seymour asked, looking up at the both of them. "Now...I'll let you leave, but there's a price you gotta pay first. Are you willing to pay that price?" He was looking at Dean and the older Winchester felt as if he was just talking to him.

"Depends," Dean said. He nodded his head toward Sam. "Sam leaves first."

"Dean-" Sam started.

"Not up for discussion, Sam," Dean said authoritatively.

"Argue about that all you want," Seymour said. "Neither of you are leaving." He waved his hand and the two brothers fell to the floor. "I lost something to John Winchester. I intend on getting something in return." He walked over to Dean as the Winchesters got to their feet. "How lucky do you feel?"

Dean, aching from the fall, looked at Seymour. "You're kidding," he said. "You want me to gamble? Whatever you lost to Dad-"

"I lost seven years of service," Seymour said. "In my kind of business, that's a serious matter. If I always lose that service, I won't have a business anymore. And where do you think I'll be after that?"

"What kind of business are you running exactly?" Sam asked. They hadn't really thought about that because they had only come here with thoughts of their dad. Where this place was located should have told them something. And when their clothes had changed. And when Seymour had had them suspended up against the wall.

"Dear old John probably doesn't have me that precious journal you two keep carrying around," Seymour said. "Well, except for my card apparently." He shook his head, annoyed. He turned to Sam. "In answer to your question, I run this casino. People gamble, the house wins, and my business thrives on."

Seymour stepped away from the two then turned back, gesturing his arms a bit theatrically. "I was christened the Last Resort Demon," he said, then lowered his arms back to his sides. "The people that gamble here come here as a last resort. They're suicidal. Have nothing and no one left in the world. They gamble the years of their lives, then work for me for however many years they lost. And once those years are up, they're out of my hands and take a trip downstairs for all eternity. It's not a pretty business, but it has its moments."

"And you're expecting me to gamble the years of my life?" Dean asked. He scoffed. "Dad didn't tell you much about us."

"If you win, you can leave and you'll never hear from me again," Seymour said. There was something more to this, but neither Winchester expected a straight answer. "Are you a risk taker?"

Dean stepped toward Seymour, hearing Sam's protests, but ignored them. "You're on."

Seymour smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

_1944_

_She walked into the small apartment, not really all that surprised to see the birthday boy standing on the table in the kitchen. She shook her head as she pulled off her coat and hat, hanging them on the rack by the door. He didn't seem to notice her still. With a roll of her eyes, she crossed her arms as she walked over to stand by the table. "And whatever are you doing?" she asked, looking up at him. From her point of view, it looked as if he was trying to remove the light from the ceiling._

_He didn't jump at the sound of her voice. He probably heard the door. He looked under his raised arm at her. "I'm decorating," he said then looked back at whatever he had been doing._

_"Decorating?" she asked, looking around. "When I left last night, there were more decorations than this." She looked back at him. "Are you sure you're not UN-decorating?"_

_He stopped what he was doing, lowered his arms then hopped down off the table. She stepped back to give him room to do so. "I've been taking things down all night," he said. Since he was dressed in the same thing she had seen him in yesterday and the fact that he looked exhausted, she knew he hadn't gotten any sleep last night. Though, there hadn't been a night since the war started that he had gotten a full night's sleep anyway. "I've been trying to redecorate, but it always turns out better in my head."_

_She sighed with a slight shake of her head, uncrossing her arms and lowering them to her sides. "It was fine the way it was," she said. "But if you need help, I could-"_

_"I don't need help," he said, walking around her and over to the sink. He reached past the sink and opened the window that was there, letting in the spring air. She could hear the birds chirping right outside. "I have to do this on my own."_

_"Why?" she asked. "Are you trying to prove something to someone?" She paused for a moment then walked over to him. He was opening a jar of peanut butter. "Is this about Michael? Have you heard from him?" If he had, he'd probably tell her._

_"He'll be home next week," he said. Michael had been fighting in the war ever since the United States got involved. He hadn't been drafted. He had volunteered to fight for his country. Several men in town had gone with him because of his bravery. Some of those men had come home crippled, scarred, or not at all. "He said it'd be my birthday week." He smiled then set the peanut butter down, staring out the window. The smile slowly faded away._

_She reached over and placed her hand on his back. "You still miss him, though," she said, knowing him too well. He and Michael were close, the best of friends. All the two brothers had was each other, after all. Michael had practically raised him. "Before you know it, the war will be over and things will go back to the way they were before he left. Maybe even better." She pat him on the back then lowered her hand._

_"Or he'll come back like Rob Blake," he said, leaning forward against the counter. Rob Blake had come back without a scratch, but had suffered from terrible nightmares. He had retreated in on himself, letting no one help until he finally took his own life. A special service had been held for Blake. The entire town showed up and no one mentioned the shell of the man he had become. _

_"Don't talk like that, Seymour," she said, stepping closer to him. "You still receive letters from him and the occasional phone call. If he was anything like Rob Blake, you'd know. And if anything had happened to him, I'm sure he'd let you know."_

_"Not if he wasn't in his right mind."_

_She stepped away from him, turning away from him in frustration. She stood like that, letting the silence linger for a moment longer, then turned back. "Again, if anything serious had happened to him, someone would let you know," she said. "You both have friends in the army. And all of them know just how much you two love each other." _

_Seymour stood with his back to her still. "I just can't stop myself from being paranoid," he said then turned away from the sink. "Not after Rob Blake and the other fellas that came back. Crippled or worse." He had attended too many of his friends' funerals the last few years. He wanted this war to be over and get his brother back. If it had been up to him, he never would have let Michael go. _

_She walked back over to him, slipping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest. "Mike's gonna be fine," she said. She didn't really know Michael. She and Seymour had only just met when Michael went off to fight in the war. The first time Michael had come back for a visit, she and Seymour had been dating. There hadn't been too many more visits after that. She smiled then pulled back and looked up at him. "He's gonna come home next week and tell you that he's won the war all on his own."_

_That got a smile from Seymour and she knew she had made him feel a lot better. Good. Now he could have the eighteenth birthday he had always wanted. He put his arms around her, pulling her tighter against him as he kissed her. He rested his forehead against hers. "I love you, Peggy," he said._

_"I love you, too," she replied, meaning it with all her heart and soul. There was nothing more important to her than him. What they had was special and even if she wasn't even seventeen yet, she was expecting a wedding. Her parents loved Seymour, so if he ever proposed, a wedding wouldn't be too far off. "And happy birthday."_

_Seymour smiled more. "Will you help me decorate?" he asked._

_"I thought you'd never ask."_

* * *

><p><em>The time of the party arrived. Seymour was sitting at the head of the table, picking at the piece of cake on his plate in front of him. There were only two slices of cake missing from the whole thing that was sitting in the middle of the table. Only he and Peggy were eating cake because they were the only ones who had come to the party. No one else had decided to show. Seymour tried not to let that bother him, but he knew Peggy was fully aware of how he was feeling.<em>

_"I'm sure they have a good excuse for not coming," Peggy said, breaking the silence. "A really good excuse or else their claims of being your friend is a lie." He was probably more upset about this than she was, but she showed it more. She dropped her fork on the table with a clang. "How can they do this to you? They know-"_

_"Peggy," Seymour said, cutting her look. He looked over at her and met her gaze. "Let it go." He put his fork down then pushed away from the table and stood._

_Peggy stood also. "No, I won't let this go," she said. "They promised they'd be here. I heard them. They shouldn't even have to promise! They're your friends! At least, that's what I always thought. If they don't even take the time to come to a birthday party, they're not even worth knowing." She shook her head as she stepped away from the table._

_Seymour lowered himself back down to his seat. "They're all Mike's friends," he said. She turned and looked at him. "That's the only reason they hung out with me. Because I was always hanging around with Michael. They could really care less about me. And I about them. You're right. They're not worth knowing. But they're the only connection I have to my brother when he's not here." _

_"Everything in this apartment is your connection to your brother," Peggy said, walking back over to the table. "You shouldn't need some snotty-nosed hooligans-"_

_"Peggy-"_

_He was cut off by a knock at the door. Seymour got to his feet. "Clearly, they were just late," he said, glad they didn't get too far into an argument. He walked away from the table and over to the door. He opened it, pausing when soldiers standing there. And not just any soldiers. Mike's friends._

_The expressions on their faces told Seymour exactly why they were here. He leaned against the doorframe. "Don't sugarcoat it," he said, looking down at the floor, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked back at the two soldiers. "How'd he go down?" He said it with such a coldness. He wasn't being heartless about it, he just didn't want to break down in front of these men._

_"He was on his way back to base," one of the soldiers said. His name was Ryan something. Seymour didn't know him too well. "He and about a dozen others were gunned down in the street. They should be shipping the bodies over any day now."_

_Seymour felt a hole open in his chest and he was having trouble breathing. He stared off down the hall, unable to look at the two soldiers. "Are you sure it's him?" he asked, though he knew good and well they'd know. They had probably already identified the body. Them and all of Mike's other friends._

_"I'm sorry, Seymour," Ryan said. "If there's anything we can do-"_

_"Thanks for telling me," Seymour said, backing up into the apartment. He closed the door without saying another word. He stood there facing the door, hearing Peggy breathing behind him. He rested his head against the door, squeezing his eyes shut._

_"Seymour?" Peggy asked. Her steps slowly came near him. "Are you okay?"_

_Seymour lifted his head, opening his eyes but didn't look at her. "I think you should go," he said, stepping back and opening the door. He turned around, but still didn't look at her._

_Peggy walked over to him. "Don't shut me out," she said. "Please, don't. I can help you through this. Seymour-"_

_"Just go," Seymour said then finally looked at her. "I just need time."_

_Peggy stood there a moment longer then nodded her head and left. Seymour watched her go then closed and locked the door. Taking a deep breath, he walked away from the door and back over to the table. He sat down and stared down at his cake, remembering the promise Michael had made him before he left six months ago. He'd give Seymour a birthday week. It would have been just the two of them the entire time. Seymour had been looking forward to it._

_Now he'd never have another moment with his brother._

_Knocking the cake to the floor, Seymour dropped his head on his arms and started crying._


	3. Chapter 3

Seymour stood behind the bar, watching as the two Winchesters spoke to each other at the other side of the room. "We have cameras on them at all times, don't we?" he asked, turning his head to the side as he looked over at the bartender, who was also his right hand man.

The bartender, Lawson, nodded his head. "As per your orders," he said, wiping down the counter without even looking at Seymour. "there are cameras on everyone." He stopped wiping and looked over at his boss. "There's nothing in this casino that you don't know about." He turned and moved off to tend to a customer.

Seymour looked back forward, keeping a close eye on Sam and Dean. He drummed his fingers on the bar. "Give him a fighting chance," he said when he heard Lawson walk over to stand by his side. "But not too much. I'm still going to win this."

"The King wasn't very happy when I took the news to him," Lawson said. "I heard there's big plans for the Winchesters."

"Not my problem," Seymour said, turning to Lawson. "The King should have thought about that before he even let Sam and Dean get here." And the King of Hell couldn't do anything about it now. Seymour was stuck here for eternity. He couldn't leave the Copa even if he tried. And the King couldn't get rid of him because Seymour had a job to do.

He was about to go on when a woman running up interrupted him. He sighed, glaring at Lawson when the bartender turned away, amused, then turned to the woman. "Yes, honey, what can I do for you?" he asked, putting on his best smile.

"I was just wondering if you give out loans," she said. She was blonde with a high-pitched voice. She was ditzy and was really out of place here. He couldn't help but wonder if she was one of the few people who just wandered in here from out of nowhere. That happened sometimes. People with families who had something to live for lost everything when they accidentally found Seymour's place. "I'm a little short on cash."

"Sure, honey," Seymour said with a nod of his head, noticing that Sam Winchester was coming this way. He looked back at her. "We'll have someone look after you. And, remember," He lifted a finger. "The house always wins." He lowered his hand as he watched her walk away gleefully.

Sam watched her go as he approached then looked at Seymour. "She seemed awfully happy about losing the rest of her life," he said.

"Why shouldn't she be?" Seymour asked. "Her last name's House, after all." He turned back to the bar, gesturing for Lawson to bring him a drink. "Dean settling in okay at the tables?" He nodded his head then picked up his glass and turned back to Sam.

"We're both pretty sure he won't be so lucky during the following games," Sam said. That was true. Seymour had allowed Dean to win at the blackjack table a few minutes ago. Dean wouldn't be as lucky, but at least he'd have a fair chance of getting out of here. Seymour wasn't planning on that happening, but he didn't want it to seem like he wanted to keep the two of them here. To the two brothers, his vendetta was against John. Losing to John Winchester was the last thing he cared about, but he wasn't going to tell them that.

Seymour took a sip of his drinks. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll have some of my people root for him during his next gamble," he said, setting the glass down on the bar.

"What are you really after here?" Sam asked. "Couldn't you just go after our dad-"

"So you two could follow after me?" Seymour asked then shook his head. "Wouldn't do for so many reasons. The main one being I'm locked up here for all eternity." He gestured around him, watching as Sam took that information in. "And what happens when the world ends in its fantastic glory?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Floating around in space in here, all alone."

"You can't leave?"

"Something wrong with your hearing?" Seymour asked. He patted Sam on the arm. "Don't worry. You make up for it in brute strength." He picked up his drink. "And go ahead and snoop. I've got nothing to hide and you won't be going anywhere anytime soon." He smiled once then turned and walked off.

* * *

><p>Sam watched as Seymour walked off. He and Dean hadn't come here for gambling or to fill in the mystery that was Seymour. But, what else was there to do? Dean had agreed to gamble to save himself, Sam, and their dad for some unexplained reason that Seymour wasn't going to talk about. Sam had nothing to do. He looked around once, wondering if it was possible to find out what Seymour's story was. And if it was somehow linked with the reason he wanted Dean gambling away the years of his life.<p>

He turned and headed across the casino to where Dean was. Dean was sitting down at a table, getting ready for a game of poker. Before the game started, Sam grabbed his brother's arm and yanked him to his feet, pulling him off to the side.

"This can't wait?" Dean asked. "I was just about ready-"

"Seymour just gave me his blessing to snoop around."

Dean gave him a _what does that have to do with me? _look. "So?" he asked. "Then go snoop." He turned to head back to the poker table. Sam grabbed his arm, stopping him. "If he wants you to so badly, then go for it. We might learn something. Especially the reason why Dad kept the son of a bitch alive."

"And what if I come up with nothing?" Sam asked. "Dad probably just kept him alive because he knew that Seymour can't leave here."

Dean turned back, the poker game momentarily forgotten. "What do you mean, he can't leave here?" he asked.

"This is practically his prison."

"And gathering souls is his civil service duty?"

"I guess."

"And how do you know he's even telling you the truth?" Dean asked. "He could be lying. Sure, it makes sense if that was the reason Dad kept him alive, but he probably just says that so he doesn't get ganked."

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said. "When he mentioned it, he looked pretty pissed about it. I think he might be telling the truth about that. Does he seem like he likes this job?"

"It looks like he enjoys his job a helluva lot more than we do ours," Dean said. "Now, excuse me, I've got our souls to save." He turned and walked over to the poker table before Sam could say another word.

Sam sighed then looked around again, wondering just where to start. Part of him knew that Seymour was watching his every move, but since Seymour told him to snoop, snooping was what he was going to do. He headed over to the bar first since it seemed like Seymour had some sort of connection with the bartender. He sat down at the bar, not saying anything when the bartender set a drink down in front of him.

"On the house," the bartender said. "The name's Lawson. Anything you need, you can ask me." He wiped his hands on a rag then wiped at the counter before flopping the rag over his shoulder.

Sam looked down at the drink then back at Lawson. "Every question I ask is going to be answered truthfully, is that it?" he asked. "Specific instructions from your boss?"

Lawson nodded his head, a grin on his face. "But I didn't have to hear it from him to know what he wants," he said. "I know him well enough."

"Where'd he come from?"

"New Jersey," Lawson replied. "He used to have family there, way back when. He doesn't like to talk about it and I don't ask. Don't bother askin' me about his family 'cause I don't know anything." He grabbed a glass, pouring himself a drink.

"He mentioned that he was locked up here," Sam said. "Can you explain that?"

"He made a deal before he came into this business," Lawson said. "The wrong kinda deal. He got screwed over and was sentenced here. Not as punishment, but it's punishment enough. The people he works for wanted to put him to good use and they thought he'd do the best here. Plus, it keeps him outta their hair."

"Who does he work for?"

"Maybe you'll find out someday."

"I thought my questions were going to be answered truthfully."

"And I am," Lawson said. "Nothin' was said about exact details."

Sam sighed. He wasn't going to get very far with this guy, but he seemed to know Seymour the most, so it was definitely a start. "And what does he want with me and Dean?" he asked. "Let me correct that. What does he want with my brother?"

"You'll have to ask him," Lawson said. "I can't guarantee he'll answer. Seymour's a pretty busy man. He's probably got a few deliveries to make right now. Who knows when you'll be able to talk to him?" He shrugged his shoulders then went back to wiping down the counter.

"He's a demon, right?" Sam asked, thinking about Meg and their run-in with her with their Dad. John had left and Sam and Dean went back to what they did best.

"Consequence of the deal he made," Lawson said. "He was a young kid. He didn't know what he was doin' at the time. Said the wrong thing, didn't get what he wanted, and _bam! _demon life it is. Sucks big time for him."

"So he _doesn't _enjoy this job."

"Would you?" Lawson asked. "If you knew you were put here thinking you were saving someone's life only to end up helping other people end theirs, would you be happy with your job?" He turned when a customer needed attention, leaving Sam to think about that.

Seymour had been trying to save someone when he had ended up here? Sam had an idea that it was someone in his family because Seymour obviously didn't like talking about them. If he needed that crucial information, he would have to go directly to Seymour to get it. But the odds of Seymour opening up about that were slim and he was better off snooping around for other clues about something else, though didn't know what else he could research here besides Seymour's past.

Sam stood up, turning away from the bar. He looked around for Seymour, but didn't spot the demon anywhere. He decided to check up on Dean then figure out what he would do next.


	4. Chapter 4

_Seven year old Seymour ran out of the house, down the steps, and into the backyard. Rounding the corner of the shed out back, he sat down in the corner of the fence that surrounded their yard. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he held back the tears that threatened to fall. He sniffed, doing his best not to let it get to him, but it was just hard. Why did Michael have to be this way? Just because he was four and a half years older didn't make him the boss. Especially since Mike wasn't even twelve yet. Seymour leaned back against the fence, hearing it creak behind him but he paid it no attention. His thoughts were mostly consumed with downing his brother in his head. Scenarios of standing up to him even if they'd never become reality. Seymour wasn't brave enough to stand up to his brother. He couldn't stop the tears from falling now and was glad no one was around to see him._

_It wasn't always this way. He and Michael were usually the best of friends. It was only when Mom and Dad were away that things got rough. Their parents didn't think they needed a babysitter, but didn't really put anyone in charge. Was it just the natural thing for the elder to be in charge? If so, why did Mike have to take bossing Seymour around so seriously? He couldn't wait for Mom and Dad to get home so he'd have his brother back. Right now, Seymour just couldn't stand to be around him. Mike never really thought about his words before they came out of his mouth. And he didn't know those words hurt because Seymour wouldn't say anything. If he did, Mike would only say it's a weakness and that he shouldn't let words get to him._

_A rustle in the leaves made Seymour look up. Sitting there in the pile of dead leaves was Michael's golden retriever, Pocket. The dog started wagging his tail when Seymour looked at him. Seymour glared at the dog. "Go away!" he said, angrily. Since he wanted nothing to do with Michael right now, that included the dumb dog. And Pocket didn't catch the anger in his tone. The dog trotted over as if this was a friendly encounter._

_When Pocket sat down next to him, Seymour pushed him away. The dog just came right back and sat down in the same spot. Seymour turned away from him and Pocket just laid down with a whine, expecting to be pet. Seymour glared at the dog. "Shoo!" he said, waving his hand. The dog lifted his head, wagging his tail again. "Go!" Seymour said more forcefully. Still, Pocket stayed. Then Seymour turned and kicked the dog. Pocket, whining and yelping, got up and ran off. Seymour didn't feel guilty about what he did and returned to his sulking. The tears were gone, so if Mike saw him right now, he'd show no weakness._

_Michael had found out about Seymour kicking Pocket. Seymour could see it in his expression when he walked back into the house a couple of hours later. Neither of them said anything and Pocket cowered away from him when Seymour walked by. Seymour walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, reaching over and turning on the radio. Mike walked into the living room, arms crossed and silent. He just stood there, doing nothing. Was he expecting Seymour to apologize for what he had done? He'd be waiting a while because Seymour wasn't going to apologize for it. After all, Mike wouldn't apologize for what he had said earlier._

_Things got worse when their parents got back home. Mike told them about Seymour kicking Pocket and, as always, Seymour was the one who was punished. He was sent to his room without supper. Seymour tried telling them about the way Mike had treated him earlier, but they didn't want to hear it. So, he stomped off, slamming the door to his room. He could hear his Mom yelling about him doing that, but he didn't care. He locked the door then crawled into bed and let the tears come this time. He sobbed into his pillow, holding his comfortor against his chest._

_Life was unfair. And his life specifically felt the most unfair at this point. He knew he'd feel differently in the morning, but that didn't change the fact that tonight HAD happened._

_Seymour cried himself to sleep._

_1944_

_Seymour woke with a start, feeling the same tears on his face as he had in his dream. It was the third time this week. After the first two nights after news of Mike's death, Seymour hadn't even been able to sleep in the apartment. He had gone straight to Peggy's and she had invited him in with open arms. Arms he hadn't left for an hour. He didn't know why he had pushed her away on his birthday when he had gotten the news. He had realized he needed her more than anything right now. _

_He sat up on the couch, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He looked at the clock and saw that it was almost five in the morning. The funeral was today. Mike's body had been shipped over yesterday. Everything was being handled by Mike's army buddies to take the burden off of Seymour, who was glad to hand it over. He didn't want any responsibilities and as long as he could get out of it, he'd take it. It wasn't the responsible thing to do, but he had only been eighteen for a week. He was entitled not to get the hang of being an adult officially._

"_You were talking in your sleep again," Peggy said, walking over. He scooted over, giving her room as she sat down beside him, handing over a cup of milk. He took it with a nod of thanks. "Do you wanna talk about it?"_

"_It was just another dream of when we were kids," Seymour said after taking a drink of milk. "Before Mom and Dad's accident." It had been on his tenth birthday when Mom and Dad had gotten in an accident. They had survived, but died days later in the hospital unable to cope with the pain. Mike, barely fourteen, had gotten the responsibility of raising his brother. They had lived with a friend until Mike turned eighteen._

_The last eight years they had been inseparable. Now this happened._

"_I'm glad it's just memories," Seymour said, staring down into his cup. "It's a lot better than dreaming of Mike showin' up, jokin' that his death was a fake." He leaned forward, setting the cup down on the coffee table, taking a moment to compose himself. He took a deep breath, feeling Peggy's hand rubbing his back in comfort. "I just need 'im back, Pegs."_

"_I know," Peggy said then leaned over, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder. He rested his head against hers. "Things will get better, I know it. Just wait and see."_

"_Then marry me." Seymour lifted his head when she pulled back. He looked at her. "It's the worst time to bring it up, sure, but I've been thinking about this for a long time. Don't you think I deserve a little bit of happiness right now?"_

"_Yes," Peggy said with a nod. "But, Seymour-"_

"_Don't 'but' me, Peggy," Seymour said. "This isn't just about the fact that I can't live alone or I can't live without you right now because I'm grieving. I really do love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And if it's wrong to bring this up just to get my mind off of-"_

"_I will," Peggy said, placing her hand on his. "It's what Mike would've wanted anyhow." She smiled at him. It was a weak smile, but it lifted his spirits some and made him feel a little bit better. She leaned forward and kissed him gently. She rested her forehead against his then hugged him._

* * *

><p><em>1936<em>

_He was ten years old._

_Seymour just couldn't contain his excitement as he jumped out of bed. It was early, but he was wide awake. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before because he had been excited. He couldn't wait to see what he was getting for his birthday! He couldn't wait until dinner! Surely Mommy and Dad would make an exception this once. After all, he was entering the double digits era now._

_He ran downstairs, hearing Mike in the shower. He was always up early, getting ready for school. Seymour ran through the house, yelling for Mom and singing Happy Birthday to himself. He hopped into the kitchen where Mom was making breakfast._

"_What are you doing up so early?" she asked, smiling at him. She knelt down when he came over and gave him a hug. "Did Mike get you up?"_

_Seymour shook his head, smiling and proud of himself. "Got myself up," he said. "It's my birthday today."_

"_It couldn't be already, could it?" Dad asked, walking into the room. "I wonder what you got me this year."_

"_Oh, Dad!" Seymour said with a smile. He ran over and climbed into Dad's lap when he sat down at the table. "I get the presents!"_

"_Are you sure?" Dad asked. "I coulda swore birthdays are done differently nowadays." He smiled and kissed his son on the cheek. "Are you gonna be a good boy today?"_

_Seymour nodded his head. "The bestest ever!" he proclaimed then looked at his mom. "Right, Mommy?"_

"_I hope so," she said with a small laugh. She cursed under her breath when she opened the fridge. "I forgot the cake."_

"_I can pick one up on my way home from work," Dad said, setting Seymour down on the floor when he started to climb down._

"_I can go after breakfast," Mom said. "There's a few other things I need to pick up, also."_

"_I can drive you," Dad said. "And you can get a ride home from Mae." Mae was their neighbor and worked at the store. "But after breakfast."_

_Seymour climbed into the other chair. Mike came downstairs just in time for breakfast. "You're gonna be late for school today," Dad told him. "Your mom and I are going out and someone needs to stay with the birthday boy for a few minutes."_

"_I don't need a babysitter," Seymour said._

"_Yes, you do, squirt," Mike said, sitting down at the table. "Being late isn't a big deal anyway. I've explained it to the teacher so many times I think she expects any day I'm late." _

_They ate breakfast then Mom and Dad headed out. Seymour climbed onto the couch and turned the radio on in the living room and sat there listening to the music that was playing. Mike was sitting in the other chair, reading a book. _

_Mike was lucky that he got to go to school. Seymour hadn't been able to because it was too expensive. In order to send him to school, Mom would have to get a job and then no one would be home to watch Seymour after school for a couple of hours until Mike got home. Seymour didn't mind, though. Mike was teaching him a lot on the weekends._

_Seymour had dozed off on the couch when a knock came at the door. Mae came in with her husband, telling Mike that their parents had gotten into an accident and were in the hospital. Mike grabbed Seymour and they got a ride to the hospital. Their parents were in surgery in serious condition. Seymour didn't really understand what was going on, but Mike understood that there was a chance their parents wouldn't live through the week._

_They laid in bed writhing in pain for the next three days. Mike had signed the papers to end their suffering. A few days later they had the funeral. During the weeks that followed, Mike and Seymour moved in with Mae, selling most of their belongings once the house was sold. _

"_Things will get better," Mike told Seymour one night before bed. "Just wait and see."_

"_We've got each other, that's what counts," Seymour said._

_Mike looked at him then nodded his head. "Yeah, we'll always have each other."_


End file.
